


Heaven Is Betting On Us

by SynthApostate



Category: Fallout 3, Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Canon-Atypical Lack of Violence, F/M, Fluff, Sleepy Cuddles, fluff?!, happiness is ephemeral
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-11 21:59:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7072123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SynthApostate/pseuds/SynthApostate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They went west looking for work, and found a sky that went on forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heaven Is Betting On Us

**Author's Note:**

> This has no connection to Pussycat, Pussycat or to the Butch thing I'm doing with Moon_crater. I just...had a dream?
> 
> The song referenced in the title is not era appropriate, but it's never a bad time for Janelle Monae.

_Nobody peekin' but the stars above  
And heaven is bettin' on us_

They fell asleep looking at the stars. Butch would have been happier with a roof, any roof, over his head, but the years had taken them out of the ruined cities of the east coast, into the west, where the open sky went on for miles.

She had come to love the sky, sleeping under it with only Butch's arm for a pillow. But they still slept close like vault dwellers, and she had learned to love that, too.

The night's chill penetrated the fog of sleep, and she told herself she should get up and stand watch for a few hours, then wake him up so they could trade off. Instead, she rolled onto her side, sleepily seeking the warmth of his body.

He didn't even stir when she tucked her arms and her knees up against him. He could be trampled by a herd of brahmin and not wake up--which was why she needed to keep watch. But she felt safe enough, there with him under the stars.

She let her hand run up his side, across his chest, over his shoulder. They had never been physically affectionate, but that didn't mean she didn't like to touch him, especially when they were about to part ways.

They wouldn't kiss each other goodbye in the morning, or hold hands, or whisper sweet nothings. But she would miss him. She would miss him desperately until they found each other again, in a week or two, when their separate deliveries were complete.

He sighed a little as she ran her fingers up the side of his neck, where he was too ticklish to touch when he was awake. She loved the way he would grab her by the wrist, just hard enough to make her gasp. She loved how he would hold onto her longer than necessary, each of them pushing against the other until something came along to break their contest of wills, or until she distracted him with a kiss. But she also loved, when he couldn't stop her, to feel the faint prickles under his chin when he'd gone a day without a shave.

She smiled when the slight pressure of her fingers on his cheek turned his face toward hers. He had run out of aftershave a year ago, but at times like this, she imagined she could still smell it.

She kissed him, gently, almost chastely, but it was enough to make him roll over, still asleep, and wrap both arms around her. His nose nestled in her hair, and she heard him sigh again.

"You smell good," he mumbled.

"I took a shower in Reno."

"Good, we'll take one in Vegas, too..." She watched his mouth slowly drop open as a deeper sleep dragged at him. He would dream of her, all the time they were apart. She would dream of him. And when their jobs were done, they'd slam back together like magnets, like they always had. Like they always would.

She traced her thumb across his bottom lip, and felt her heart so full it could burst.

"Butch, I love--travelling with you," she whispered.

He pulled her closer.

"Yeah, I love you, too."

"What?" she gasped.

He started to snore.

He wouldn't remember that in the morning, and she wasn't going to try to remind him. But maybe, when they blew all their hard-earned caps on the best hotel room on the strip--maybe there they could say it again.

Signing on with the Mojave Express might turn out to be the best decision they had ever made.


End file.
